


Waiting By The Fire

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [23]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 08:39:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14745548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: A back-fill story on how Maude and Marisol came to be at Haven and the life they'd focused on building.  Not essential to the saga, but gives more body to Haven, the village, and the period of time between the destruction of Maudie's pub and the time Peter arrives on their doorstep.  Rambling, yes, but it was meant to be that way, much as their thoughts during that time.   And, yes, it explains that big table in the corner downstairs, the one that plays a part in the saga more than once.





	Waiting By The Fire

Maude and Marisol sat by the fire in their small sitting room, conveniently adjoining both their bedrooms. Maude looked around in satisfaction, thinking it was just like Caeide to see to it that they had a nice place like this, a special bit of private comfort for the two who'd been together as friends and helpmeets for so many years. Comfortable chairs for taking your ease, small tables at the side just big enough for a teapot, cup and perhaps a plate of something to nibble. Loveseat against the wall, softly cushioned, larger round table there at the end. Bookcase in the corner, with a variety of books to choose from, in addition, of course, to that big library (and wasn't that place a surprise!) just down the hall; lamps for a gentle glow or to read by. Warm rugs on the floor, soft throws to wrap around the shoulders or pull over a lap. Yes, it was a snug, cozy place; a welcoming place, much like Haven itself.

She'd found it odd that most did not think of Haven that way; she'd discovered Haven was a private place, courteous to all (unless you got on its bad side) but warmly welcoming of only tried and true friends, and Family, of course. She once again thought how fortunate she and Mari were, to be considered among those. They had not only been welcomed, but Caeide had actually sent her brothers out searching for them, to issue the invitation to come and join her here if they chose, assistance in other ways if they wished to remain in England.

The house was quiet now; the evening meal over and done, the evening chores completed, the ritual of that one drink together downstairs completed. Caeide was in the office, completing the records for the day, in addition to making her lists for the next day; she was a stickler for that, saying she'd most likely forget some important detail if she waited til the next day; that it was the details that were often the difference between a favorable outcome and something other, and surely the next day would have more than enough to occupy her without starting with something left undone. Marisol had once teased her to "be sure you start your daily list with reminding the sun to come up; without that, it just might not happen, you know," getting a shy grin in return, at them knowing how she depended on those lists, putting in every little item.

Maude glanced at the clock on the mantle, "twenty minutes, Mari, then one of us needs to go send her off to her bed. She was looking peaky when she came in."

"I agree, but there's a look in her eye tonight, Maudie; I'd not be surprised if we're not in for another set of nightmares," the younger woman said grimly. They all had nightmares, each had enough in their lives to justify that, and the bombing raids, the destruction they'd seen had added to it. But Caeide, hers seemed something different, and often left her physically ill, hugging the porcelain and shaking and weeping, sometimes raging in a language they didn't understand. She'd never shared; they dared not ask, but just provided comfort as best they could. 

 

It had taken them a while to get used to being at Haven, it being so very different from what they'd known in London's East End. The quiet was overwhelming at first, just the sound of the sea and the wind, the different sounds of the animals; no one else around unless you hitched up the pony and drove into the village, and there just the grocer and small housegoods store, the smithy, the doctor and a scattering of cottages.

The Elderhouse and the Orphanage were on the plains, not far from the village, but still separate from it. While that seemed unusual, Caeide had explained that the land and the buildings had been left to the village for that express purpose, many many years ago, and the village not eager to look a gift horse in the mouth.

There were two green manor houses, off to the east end of the village, connected by a long enclosed runway, now locked at each end; they were occupied by an elderly brother and sister who hadn't spoken a word to each other, and not much more to the villagers, in over forty years, according to Magda Rhys, the stationmaster's wife. No, no one knew what had caused the falling out between the siblings, but hard and bitter it was. Maude thought about her brother Bert, who she'd lost in a brawl so many years ago; she still missed him, and wondered at these two, living so close and so apart all at the same time.

Magda and her family lived in a cottage close to the two stores, not in an attachment to the station as was common elsewhere. Well, the only train coming through, when it could GET through, with all the bombing and strafing and such, was at three in the morning, and only stopped by arrangement, so hardly needed anyone there othertimes. Davie Rhys was conscientious, though; whether a stop was scheduled or not, he was at the station by two, making sure all was well, and stayed til the train was around the bend. Magda had gotten used to that over the years; sometimes she accompanied him if she couldn't sleep, spending her time there with her knitting or reading, but mostly she didn't; now his leaving didn't even waken her most times, she said, and he was back by the time she was up and fixing the morning meal in the pre-dawn. Between times, Rhys served as the local constable, settler of arguments, arbiter of all things large and small, in addition to helping work their own plot of ground, helping others in the planting and harvesting as day work became available. Times were lean, and everyone made do with bits and pieces of income, and provided for their own needs from their own pieces of land as best they could. Somehow, they managed.

But their not venturing forth so often, it wasn't so much that there wasn't a lot in the village to do, or to see; it was that, after they'd had a chance to rest, start to settle, that they'd realized just how much there was to be done here, how much the young woman was really doing in any one day.

She'd not asked anything of them, but Maude and Marisol had compared notes, Maude being up much earlier, as she was accustomed to doing but retiring earlier, a luxury she allowed her age to bring her, and Marisol sleeping in a bit but being up later at night, and were aghast at the realization that the girl was up before Maude and to bed after Mari. Caeide was up by 4:00, stoking the fires, starting the coffee, checking her lists, then to be off taking care of the big stock by 4:30. Then the poultry, then back for the milking, only then taking time for food or drink. Then, one thing or another, til late in the evening, all just to keep things running the way they should.

Marisol had taken a good look at a few of those lists and was appalled, as was Maude when Marisol shared them with her. Together they had wondered if she was keeping herself at such a pace as to not give herself time to think. Gradually, the two of them had stepped in, carefully, slowly, not in a way to cause offense, just as the opportunity arose, but now, while Caeide was still up at 4:00 and still going late in the evening, well, Marisol had taken over the poultry and part of the kitchen garden, and shared the house tending with Maude; Maude had taken on much of the cooking and baking, and had just gotten her hand firmly on the stillroom, with her eye on the brewery (of which Caeide had had little interest and had not even broached since the move from the old homestead) and the cheese hut. Maybe the hours were just as long for the young woman, but there were breaks in between, and the other women chivied her into resting some each afternoon, and she was eating properly for a change, and she'd lost some of that gaunt look that had worried them so when they'd arrived.

They'd discussed setting up the big loom and the quilting frame; had discussed how to preserve the harvest from the orchard; had talked about what would be needed for winter stores. They were becoming PART of Haven, not guests, not visitors, but family, and they felt that to be a good thing, a welcome thing. The family was not complete, but perhaps, hopefully, in time that would change; perhaps, with the end of the war. . .

Caeide had changed in many ways, but not in the essentials. The girl, the woman-child they had known was still totally lacking in subtlety, still strong, and fierce, as well as funny and warm and loving. Still a good friend, still a bitter and dangerous enemy. That was easy to recognize as being the same, and somehow Marisol was not surprised when Maude told her about those bully boys who'd beaten Peter to warn him off a shipment, only to be found in the river. Well, she'd known they had been found in the river, just never before known Caeide had been the one to escort them there!

The changes, well, she'd had her hard times, just as they had, and glory, what she had accomplished here had to have taken more energy and hard work and sheer stubborn determination than most would be capable of. She had scars, inside and out; the last time Maudie had tended her in London there had been a couple, and her just having received the knife wound that would add another. She'd taken that one protecting a friend, and would have done the same again without question.

Now, when Maudie had helped bandage that new slash across her back, she had frowned over the number of faint scars now showing. The ones that were really disturbing? Well, those she had seen sometimes, had helped bandage the wounds over those first couple of months after they were first arrived in Haven. They had disturbed Maude then because there didn't seem any reasonable way the young woman could have gotten them, some even appearing overnight; she and Marisol had decided they had to talk to Caeide, see if in her worry and anxiety over their far away boy she wasn't, well . . .They'd both heard of that, harming yourself in grief, in some inner turmoil.

But she'd talked of it being a Clan matter, a bargain, a debt to be paid for a favor given, promised the wounds were not self-inflicted, but something she was bound to accept as her burden, and they'd let it rest. She'd always been truthful with them, and they might not understand what was going on, but they agreed they thought she was being truthful with them now.

While the welcome from Caeide had been warm and real, the locals were a different story. Oh, the Reverend Miles, he'd come and welcomed them most sincerely and was becoming a good friend; but, he'd always been a good friend to Haven, Caeide said, ever since he arrived fresh from the seminary. Magda Rhys had welcomed them, and soon after had brought Mali Tanner, the blacksmith's sweet young wife, and then Madge Turner, who ran the housegoods store. Madge was a few years younger than Marisol, a war widow, born and raised here in the village, and while Magda had told them Madge had a flirty style about her, not to get the wrong idea; widow or not, she'd put any in their place if they mistook that for being easy.

"That she's not, no mistake. Was faithful to Bill since they joined hands, never straying, and seems to have no notion of doing so now. Sometimes I think she's still waiting for him to walk back through that door, no matter the telegram she got not a year ago."

Well, the rest would come around or not, as the case may be; any who had thought to be openly rude or talk malice, and there had been a few, had been set to rights most quickly and surely by the Mistress of Haven, and there were none so bold or so foolhearted now as to question the right of the two East End women to be at Haven. 

Marisol glanced at the clock again. "I know she said she wanted to work on the big room tomorrow; do you have any idea what she has in mind?"

"Well, in the beginning, so she told me, she put it together as sort of how the main room of an inn might look. Told me she and Maeve had discussed making it so any stray passersby would take this as such, instead of a homestead, especially with her being alone. That way, it would seem more likely she had others about; you know, as a bit of extra safety. Now, she's drifted away from that notion; says there aren't enough of those to worry with, and any that do show up, her revolver should be enough safety, especially with her not being hesitant to using it. So, she wants to shift things around, see what the possibilities are, see what can go into storage, what needs to be brought in; what uses might be made of the space, and it's a goodly amount of space, you know, across the whole front of the house, and with that big alcove and all."

"Well, if she takes out all those round tables and chairs, it's going to be a big BARE space, that's for sure."

"True, but that space, the others, they were planned so they could change as needs changed. Like the rooms up here, with the walls that can open up between rooms, or close off, making bigger ones, making smaller ones as necessary. They weren't planning for ten years, even a hundred, though I have some trouble wrapping my mind around that."

"Sometimes I imagine those two, sitting beside that fireplace in that cottage, working all this out, thinking of all the possibilities, and I'm sure I only know the barest bit of what's planned in here; expect we'll find out more as time goes along. Like that pocket door between this hallway and the landing and the other rooms to the front; when it's open, no one would think it's not an open doorway; when it's closed and latched and locked, well, it's as secure and snug as you'd be able to manage it. And that tiny staircase in the back of that closet in the office, the one that leads to the pantry off the kitchen? How tidy an escape route is that, especially with the other end having that blind turn, where if you go that way, you end up in that cave up in the cliffs?"

Marisol shook her head with a little laugh, "fair stunned me, that did. Asked her if she was preparing for an invasion, and she didn't even smile. Said Haven had withstood such before, wouldn't be surprised if it wouldn't be necessary at some time again. Also said, if an enemy is surrounding the house, having a way to come at them from the rear, that's right important." She gave a hummph, "I forget what she and her family are, how they think, then something like that brings it right out." She looked at the clock again, "time to send her off to her bed. Hope she can sleep through." 

She didn't, of course, and after two screaming nightmares, one right after the other, she gave it up for a lost cause. She'd bound the bleeding slice across her forearm, relieved that it was not more serious and also was positioned so that she could tend it without asking for help; sat in the kitchen, sipping coffee, making lists, and by the time she needed to go tend the stock, she had a goodly amount done, at least in the planning. By the time the noonday meal had been finished, and the kitchen tidied, she was more than ready to tackle that big front room.

"See, that long counter, it would have passed for a bar, with the floor to ceiling shelves being behind it, built into that wall. The alcove, well, that could be set up as a snug, easy enough. The rest of the room, part as the place for the resolved drinkers, and a space for those who just wanted a quiet meal, or tea and a bit of conversation. But, look here, at the bar." She moved two chairs further away from the bar, tugged the long runner away as well. "Look at those carvings, up at the ceiling, that overly built molding effect. Watch." And she went to the back of the bar and did something, they couldn't see what, and moved quickly back to join them and they watched as that rolled and carved molding gave a shudder and lower itself, unrolling as it came down, finally with one end resting in a slot in the floor, gone unnoticed due to that long piece of carpet. She walked to the end by the staircase and touched a carved tulip, and they heard a loud click, then another and another; she did the same at the close end. Somehow, now, that wall looked like it had always been there, strong and sturdy and immovable.

"And see, this piece comes off," tugging at a piece of framing on the wall, revealing yet another pocket door. She pulled it out, and the attachments latched into that moveable wall. "So, instead of an open bar, we have another storage spot, complete with counter, storage underneath, built in shelves and such," smiling with amusement at their faces. "It's easily switched, depending on what we need at that time. There's plenty of storage space in the attics to store whatever furniture we don't need or want down here, and I've a few special cubby holes much closer, and I've collected stray bits and pieces that I've stored up there that we can browse through."

Maude frowned in concentration, "yes, but those tables and chairs, they'll take a fair amount of storage space if you decide to send all, even most there," but the grin on Caeide's face told her they had other surprises in store.

"Normally, yes, but the legs of the tables are attached into slots, see?" tipping one to its side. "You lift these latches, one to each leg, and the legs fold in flat; the tables can stack in one big round circle, or lean against the walls. The chairs, that odd slope of the legs, lets them stack in piles of at least six. It would take up less space than you'd imagine. And the alcove?"

She popped off framing pieces at each side, revealing pocket doors that slid out, then unfolded, forming a wall, leaving only a door-sized gap. "That can be completed with another piece, making it a real door; that piece is up in the attic."

She led them up to the attics and they wandered among the pieces she'd collected.

"This is a nice bit, luv; we should be able to do something downstairs, right enough. But I'm ready for tea, and perhaps we can discuss it better after we've sat a spell."

So they had tea, and thought, and discusssed, and came up with a plan. By then it was time for the afternoon chores, and afternoon moved swiftly into evening, and this time Caeide was able to seek her bed and actually stay there undisturbed til the call of the stock came again. It would be a few days before the opportunity came to do anything about their plans.

Maude and Marisol came down to the clatter of those tables being leveled and rolled to the side, the sight of chairs pulled away and ready to be moved.

"Child, you should have waited! We'd been expecting to help," came from Marisol.

"Well, don't be put out, there's going to be plenty to do; I just thought to get a start at the clearing out," she laughed.

Maude looked at the array of furniture, "just how do we get that lot up to the attics, not to mention the other down again? Call in men from the village?" not thinking that to be something Caeide would want to do, having outsiders privy to the secrets so rampant here.

"Oh, this isn't going to the attics, not the tables anyway, and possibly not the chairs. And I'll call in my brothers and cousins to help with the rest; they'll be glad to help, especially if they get to sample Maudie's cooking."

And she went to the base of the closed in staircase, and pressed places in what appeared to be a plank wall, and the front folded and swung open to the touch of her hand. An empty space, a full ten feet long, at a tall man's height, a goodly four foot deep, ready and waiting, and together they rolled the tables into place, her strapping them firmly to the hooks embedded into the wall. The chairs followed, tidily stacked, and the long folding door closed again, leaving no trace of its existance.

Maude and Marisol shared a chuckle, a shake of the head, and turned to survey the room. Two tables had been left, complete with chairs, centered in front of that area that used to be the bar, but was now an enclosed pantry. One table, slightly bigger, was off by itself, to the right and in front of of the alcove, four chairs circled around. Two or three other chairs were pushed against the wall, out of the way.

"What about the rest? Carpets, maybe those love seats, arm chairs, small tables and such, making conversation groups?"

"Yes, that's what I thought, but with room for the quilting frame, or maybe the loom there in that front corner, across from the alcove. There's no time for such except in the cold of winter, but it's a pleasant occupation then, when there IS time, and I find them a pleasant sight even when not in use," Caeide explained.

"Yes, but that table, the big one. It looks awkward there; perhaps it should be stored away too, or moved over in that other corner, that front wall by the door?"

And Marisol was surprised at the flush, and the adamant shake of the young woman's head, "no, I want that table there; that's one thing I'll not have changed," and flushed again even deeper. Marisol shrugged, but cast a glance at Maude; that wasn't like Caeide, letting something so out of place stand, and being so vehement in opposition to an idea.

Maude nodded in puzzled agreement, and turned and looked at that table, at the position. She blinked rapidly, stepped back several paces, cast a look over the room, this time with new eyes, remembering eyes, and she got a wide grin on her wrinkled face, and let out a croak of a laugh. She went to the pantry, rummaged for a few minutes, and came back with a bottle of whisky, four glasses, a pack of cigarettes, ash tray and lighter, a deck of cards, all collected into a wicker basket stored under that counter. She grinned at them both, and went to the table, setting all those things in their proper place, and as the last item, that deck of cards hit the table, Marisol recognized that scene for what it was, a recreation of the table as it used to await Peter when he ran his allnight poker games. That's where the table had been, off in that corner, just there.

The air seemed to still, she felt the pounding in her head, the tightness in her chest, and she could only nod in agreement with Maudie when she said, "well, might as well go the rest of the way, lass, do it right. That way it's waiting for the boy when he comes home," and Marisol helped Maudie enfold the woman-child in their arms, as her tears came, tears she'd perhaps held in too long, except for those resulting from those nightmares and their aftermath. Finally, the redhead sniffed, and smiled at them both, tremulously, "yes, it's waiting for him, just as we are."

And beside the fire that night, tired but oddly content, the two discussed the day, and their hopes for the future, and their longing for the day the man they thought of as son, as brother would return to them, for his sake, for theirs, and for the sake of the young woman down the hall who had waited for such a very long time for him to return to her.


End file.
